Field of Blood
by icewater
Summary: One Shot: The final battle, and it's Hermione, not Harry who has to end the war. Warning: Character Death


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter, surprisingly enough.

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"Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me."

It was cold and gray, the early afternoon had taken on the uncanny qualities of dusk, and she would have felt the desolation in her bones even if she hadn't been appointed this task. They were the only two left on the field, the other Aurors and members of the Order had disappeared, pursuing Death Eaters who had fled.

He turned to her, her stomach clenching at the expression in his green eyes. They were so full of hope and sorrow, she could see the thoughts running through his mind. They were the same ones she was thinking. It was over, the battle that had plagued them since they were children had come to its conclusion. But it wasn't over yet, she was the one to finish it. Within his eyes she could now see threads of confusion as he walked around the fallen Voldemort. She knew he was beginning to feel it, the calling, the spirit claiming his body.

He started towards her, the faded sleeve of his robe rippling in the breeze as he reached to grasp her hand. She stepped back.

"Stop, right there. Don't come any closer Harry," she warned.

He narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. "Hermione?"

She blinked back tears at his address, his voice flowing over her name with such familiarity, bringing back memories of over ten years of friendship.

"I know you can feel it Harry. He's using you." 

Harry started towards her again, and she could see panic starting to override his confusion. She stumbled backwards, evading his grasp.

" 'For neither can live while the other survives'," she cried out. "He knew, Harry, he knew and it was planned. He's done it before, and he was prepared. Even now he's taking over, I know you can feel it."

Hermione moaned as she began to cry. She couldn't loose her composure, she needed to be stable. She made a pledge, she had a task, the most important one of all.

"You're lying," he argued, his face coloring.

She shook her head, regaining her calm disposition. "I'm not. I- I have a source. A spy. I know it's true." She drew a shaky breath, and raised her wand at him. _'Judas!'_ her mind cried. But wasn't Judas just as holy, just as integral to the plan? He was needed to enable the sacrifice, the martyrdom to save the world.

She watched as his scar diminished, the emerald of his eyes swirling into a vortex of red. It was happening, just as it was described to her. Voldemort had a plan, one couldn't survive for over thirty years as nothing but a specter in hiding just to approach an apocalyptic battle with no plan for survival. The cards were laid on the table, and Hermione, the closest friend with a logical mind that would ward off sentiment was chosen to win the game.

She bowed her head, still keeping watch through her eyelashes. "I'm sorry, Harry," she spoke, to whatever part was left of him in there, the part she knew was crying out to her. "So sorry," she whimpered, before she raised her wand and issued the two words that finally brought the Wizarding World peace.

* * *

Hermione crawled under her duvet, ignoring the owls at the window, holding parchments full of inane attempts at support. Dumbledore, Remus, even Ron could wait the days, weeks, months, however long it would take for her to able to see them again. She laid on her side, burrowing her face into the pillow and wept.

The bed sank underneath the weight of another person and she stilled. She didn't want to appear weak, not to him. Not in front of a person who had also had to kill during that battle, and not someone who was _like_ family, but was family. Though Harry was innocent, a pawn, and his victim was not, she knew that inside he was just as raw as she. They were too old for their age. It felt silly now how strange she had felt when they had secretly exchanged vows, how she felt like a child playing dress up with the neighbor boy, too young to be there, promising such things. And now her body ached and her soul was red, sore and jagged where she had once thought to be so clean and soft.

He laid against her, spooning into her back, and drew her close to him. She turned to him, forgetting her embarrassment, and pulled his head down to her chest. Stroking his back, she thought that maybe they didn't have to mourn alone, each trying to be strong for the other. That their burdens could be shared- they were hurt, both of them, they were both betrayers. But they were together.

She moved her calloused fingers into his silken blonde hair and smiled grimly. Not quite thirty silver pieces, but she found it a worthy reward, and one she would not spurn. She was holy too.

* * *

A/N

Ookay, a bit different from my other pieces of fluff- far too morbid for me. Oh well, that's what you get when you read your religious theory books during summer break I suppose. R/R please, I appreciate it immensely.


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